3 Blood Lines Read Online Free PDF Page A

She’d have been his then, no one else would have had a claim on her. How dared she be with someone else when he needed her?
    The sun burned down in memory, an all-seeing yellow eye.
    He frowned down at the city. He was not used to dealing with fear, so he fed the dream to his anger and allowed, almost forced, the Hunger to rise. He did not need her. He would hunt.
    Below him, a thousand points of light glowed like a thousand tiny suns.
     
    Reid Ellis preferred the museum at night. He liked being left alone to do his work, without scientists or historians or other staff members asking him stupid questions. “You’d think,” he often proclaimed to his colleagues, “that a guy with four degrees would know when a floor was wet.”
    Although he didn’t mind working the public galleries, he preferred the long lengths of hall linking offices and workrooms. Within the assigned section, he was his own boss; no nosy supervisor hanging over his shoulder checking up on him; free to get the job done properly, his way. Free to consider the workrooms his own private little museums where the storage shelves were often a hell of a lot more interesting than the stuff laid out for the paying customers.
    He rolled his cart out onto the fifth floor, patted one of the temple lions for luck, and hesitated with his hand on the glass door to the Far East Department. Maybe he should do Egyptology first? They usually had some pretty interesting things on the go.
    Maybe he should do their workroom first. Now.
    Nah, that’d leave the heelmarks on the floor outside Von Thorne’s office for end of shift and I’m not up to that. He pulled out his passkey and maneuvered his cart through the door. As my sainted mother used to say, get your thumb out of your butt and get to work. I’ll save the good stuff for last. Whatever they’ve got out isn’t going anywhere.
     
    The ka pulled free of his tenuous grasp and began to move away. He was still pitiably weak, too weak to hold it, too weak to draw it closer. Had he been able to move, hunger would have driven him to desperate measures, but bound as he was, he could only wait and pray that his god would send him a life.
     
    On a Sunday night in Toronto the good, the streets were almost deserted, municipal laws against Sunday shopping forcing the inhabitants of the city to find other amusements.
    Black leather trench coat billowing out behind him, Henry made his way quickly down Church Street, ignoring the occasional clusters of humanity. He wanted more than just a chance to feed, his anger needed slaking as much as his Hunger. At Church and College, he paused.
    “Hey, faggot!”
    Henry smiled, turned his head slightly, and tested the breeze. Three of them. Young. Healthy. Perfect.
    “What’s the matter, faggot, you deaf?”
    “Maybe he’s got someone’s pecker stuffed in his ear.” Hands in his pockets, he pivoted slowly on one heel. They were leaning against the huge yellow bulk of Maple Leaf Gardens, suburban boys in lace-up boots and strategically ripped jeans downtown for a little excitement. With odds of three to one, they’d probably be after him anyway, but just to be certain . . . the smile he sent them was deliberately provocative, impossible to ignore.
    “Fuckin’ faggot!”
    They followed him east, yelling insults, getting braver and coming closer when he didn’t respond. When he crossed College at Jarvis Street, they were right on his heels and, without even considering why he might be leading them there, they followed him into Allen Gardens Park.
    “Faggot’s walking like he’s still got a prick shoved up his ass.”
    There were lights scattered throughout the small park, but there were also deep pockets of shadow that would provide enough darkness for his needs. Hunger rising, Henry led them away from the road and possible discovery, fallen leaves making soft, wet noises under his feet. Finally, he stopped and turned.
    The three young men were barely an arm’s length